


Voices in Lorien

by LeastExpected_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: First Time, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-02-04
Updated: 2002-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:15:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26367799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeastExpected_Archivist/pseuds/LeastExpected_Archivist
Summary: by Orangeblossom BrambleburrSam has an unusual awakening in the woods of Lorien.
Relationships: Frodo Baggins/Sam Gamgee
Kudos: 6
Collections: Least Expected





	Voices in Lorien

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Amy Fortuna, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Least Expected](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Least_Expected), which has been offline since 2002. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Least Expected collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/leastexpected/profile).
> 
> Disclaimer: All belongs to the Mighty Tolkien  
> Feedback: I beg for it!  
> Story Notes: I know there's plenty of PWP already out there, but the story *would* *not* *leave* until I wrote it

The woods of Lorien seemed at all times to be filled with ethereal voices. Songs that had been sung for thousands of years echoed between the majestic trees, at once soothing and evocative. At times Sam was loath to sleep, sorrowing to miss a moment of the Elfsongs that stirred his blood and renewed the strength of his soul.

Yet sleep he must, and the voices that so enchanted him by day eased him by night, letting him awake refreshed and eager as he had not felt since leaving Rivendell. Perhaps it was not only the Elfsongs; his master slept nights at his side, curled close and warm upon piles and folds of Elven-made blankets that were so warm and fair that he wore naught but the wretched Ring on its chain. He held tight to Sam in his sleep, breathing slowly and deeply as if he too was lulled by the haunting voices.

The first light of dawn had not yet crossed the sky and yet Sam was drifting to consciousness, inhaling deeply the sweet air. The scents of herbs, flowers and spices both familiar and not mingled with the sweet scent of his master's skin that evoked thoughts of home. Sam smiled drowsily; no wakening could be sweeter than in this dreamy predawn at Frodo's side.

Frodo slept still, sprawled gracefully on his back with an arm across his chest, the other curled beneath his dark head, the Ring having slipped behind him. Sam lay alongside him with his face near buried in the curve of Frodo's neck, his arm splayed lazily across his stomach. The numbness of sleep was beginning to dissipate and he could feel the subtle textures of Frodo's skin against his own.

Sam's eyes widened as he regained his senses. In sleep it seemed that his hand had grown bold against his waking will and now lay lightly over that part of Frodo that in sleep was soft and still yet somehow tingling with life of its own. Blood flowed to redden Sam's cheeks as he lay suddenly frozen in place, not daring to move or even breathe. It was wrong, so very wrong to lay here with his hand cupping the forbidden, and yet he couldn't seem to draw it away. He cautiously lifted his eyes to assure himself that Frodo slept on.

Gently, slowly, Sam began to remove his willful hand, ever fearful that Frodo would awake and realize Sam's folly. As his fingers grazed the warm skin he could not help but marvel at the fine softness; delicate it was like the flesh of his eyelids and yet firm as ripe young fruit. It was changing beneath his touch as well; Sam realized abruptly that he'd lost his goal of silent removal. Frodo's body was unmistakably reacting to Sam's unintended caress and to his horror his own body was responding in kind.

"Stop, you fool!" his mind screamed. What would his master think should he wake to find Sam hard against him with a hand where it had no right to be? But a new and urgent voice pressed him on, pleading with him to explore these new contours of Frodo's body, to caress and stroke and...

Frodo moaned and shifted. A stab of terror overtook Sam's body and he yanked his hand away as if it had been burned. Frodo's eyes were open, though he did not look on Sam, who felt tears of shame prick his eyes.

"Why..." Frodo began, and his voice was so soft and distant it seemed as the disembodied Elf-voices of the wood.

Sam interrupted, the words tumbling over one another as he spoke, "Oh, Mr. Frodo, I'm sorry, please, I was right sound asleep, you see, and I..."

"Why did you stop?" Frodo finished at a whisper, eyes still locked on some distant vision.

Sam's eyes were wide with amazement. "You want...I mean...Mr. Frodo, I..." he said, unable to lay words to the thoughts taking shape in his mind.

Now Frodo rolled to face him, his fathomless blue eyes filled with a mixture of love and fear, of longing and pain that pierced to Sam's heart. He did not speak again but took Sam's hand in his own, guiding it lower over his body. Sam was unresisting, allowing himself to be pulled thusly, frightened but aching as well and unable, unwilling to deny his master. At last his fingers closed around Frodo, breath stolen by the look in Frodo's eyes as they closed.

He was uncertain; he hadn't let himself so much as dream of being in such a position. His fingers moved clumsily but gently as he tried to follow the movements and sounds Frodo made, wishing desperately that he was more learned in the ways of love. Even back in the Shire he'd done scarce more than steal a kiss or two, and then only from Rosie Cotton whom he'd known all his life. Now he lay lover-like with his master, and although it was bewildering it was right in a way he couldn't explain even to himself. And suddenly he found his lips pressed to Frodo's, kissing him slowly and deeply as his fingers found rhythm.

Frodo moaned again, the sound muffled by Sam's kiss. Frodo's graceful, long-fingered hands moved over Sam's shoulders and down his muscular back to draw him closer, coaxing a soft cry from deep in Sam's throat.

His mouth moved from Frodo's to kiss all over the dear, familiar face; along the strong jawline, over the forehead to touch on the sweet place that formed a vertical crease when Frodo was concerned, then again to trace the edge of his brow that had a queer habit of curving up rather than down when he arched it. He had known every inch of that face from childhood up and yet he discovered it anew with his lips.

Lower the kisses moved, returning to the hollow of Frodo's throat where not long ago he'd slept. Here too was a new world to explore; no longer just a tender curve for security and slumber, he mapped each arc and crease with lips and tongue, drowning in the scent of Frodo's skin, the fingers of his free hand tangled in Frodo's curls. The silver Elven chain drew a rough line beneath his caress but the Ring lay quiet where it had fallen beneath Frodo's head.

Frodo rolled slowly onto his back again, pulling Sam over him. Sam stiffened with sudden anxiety, dropping both hands to the ground to brace himself. He looked away, catching his lip between his teeth; there was no hiding his own eagerness now as he lay atop his master. Doubt and shame twisted in his stomach and he wished desperately that he'd remained on his side where his state would not be so pressingly obvious. Hands were roaming slowly over his body, stroking his sides and over his hips. "Sam," Frodo said almost inaudibly. "Sam, what is wrong?"

His throat was so tight he couldn't speak; he looked into his master's eyes and then hung his head, only to snap it up again in shock. Frodo had slid his hand between their bodies to touch Sam; his movements were smooth and steady, his eyes were gentle. "M...Mr. Frodo..."

"Shhh..."

Sam's eyes closed as new sensation flooded his body. Never before had someone touched him like this; he was unprepared for the shock of pleasure that gripped him. He heard a soft cry on the air and realized that it was his own voice; his body moved in time with Frodo's caress. Gently Frodo released him, slipping his hand back to press lightly at the small of Sam's back. He almost protested at the loss of Frodo's touch but couldn't bring himself to, and after a moment he no longer wished to; he found that Frodo's hardness was pressed warm and damp against his own. He could feel Frodo's pulse there, and beyond the heat was Frodo's silky warm stomach slipping against him. Slowly, experimentally he rocked his hips, stealing a glance at Frodo's face as he did.

The dark brows were knit, lip tight between his teeth as if he was bearing up to great pain; Sam stilled his movements at once. Frodo made a sound somewhere between a whimper and a moan, his fingers pressing into Sam's hips to urge him on, his own body rising. Overwhelmed, Sam did as his master bid him, the gasps of pleasure that escaped Frodo's lips guiding him.

Frodo's head tossed on the ground, his cries growing louder. It seemed to Sam that the elusive Elven voices called out along with him as he felt Frodo's release against him; tightness grew in his own belly and he couldn't withhold the sounds that rose from him. The world was filled with light and color, with music and glorious sensation; Frodo was clinging to him and saying his name over and over as if it were a chant, and for a moment of blinding brilliance he knew no Ring of power could match the allure of this, of love and touch in the Eleven wood. His head arched back and he gasped his master's name.

Too soon it was over. His mind was slow to leave the daze of pleasure; he lay still and quiet, his hands stroking the sides of Frodo's face. Frodo's eyes were closed, his breathing slowly returning to normal. "Sam..." he sighed, raising his fingers to caress Sam's cheek, "Oh, Sam..."

He was uncertain; he had no idea what he was to do now. At length he felt a strange, quaking sensation; Frodo was laughing, very softly. Sam looked away, embarrassed; Frodo sobered at once, lifting himself to kiss Sam tenderly. "No, Sam. No shame. I'm laughing because I'm happier than I've been in a long time. And also," he said, with a chuckle, "You're quite squashing me."

Repentant, Sam rolled back to Frodo's side. "I'm sorry, Mr. Frodo, I didn't mean to..."

Frodo silenced him with another kiss. "No more apologies. If I could say how much I've longed for...but no, I shan't speak of it. What matters now is that you're here with me." He sat up. "We ought to have a bath, don't you think?"

Sam smiled shyly. "I reckon so; I doubt anyone would be about so early." He stood, pulling Frodo to his feet. Hand in hand they walked into the wood.

The bathing pool was not deserted as they had expected; Merry and Pippin were splashing about in the shallow water. "Well!" said Frodo, "what are you two up and about so early for?"

Merry grinned. "Pippin snored so I couldn't sleep a wink."

Pippin splashed him and laughed. "Not I. It must have been Gimli; he was close by and I swear I couldn't sleep for the noise either. But that doesn't explain why you two are up and about."

Sam stepped into the water and pulled Frodo in after him, grateful that the dim light concealed any evidence that remained on his skin. "I like rising early; the sunrise is right pretty here."

"That's true enough," Merry nodded, eyeing Sam's flushed cheeks. Frodo's cheeks as well were quite rosy; Merry cast a covert glance at Pippin but said nothing more.

"Well," Pippin said before silence could descend, "We ought to finish up here and set out for some breakfast. I for one am half starved!"

Frodo laughed. "Oh, you two are always thinking with your stomachs."

"As any good hobbit ought," said Sam, "I've got quite an appetite myself. Don't you Mr. Frodo?"

"Yes, yes, I'm more than ready for a bite," Frodo said with a slightly rakish grin before dipping beneath the surface.

Sam quickly washed his own hair, massaging his shoulders with soapy fingers as he studiously avoided watching his master, afraid his gaze would say too much. A soft splash at his side startled him; Pippin had come next to him. "Wash your back, Sam?"

"Thanks."

Pippin's hands were surprisingly gentle. "Sam, old friend, why are you so odd this morning?" he whispered.

Blushing, Sam said nothing.

Pippin nodded thoughtfully. "Ah, that's what I'd thought, you won't say. But your face betrays you. I'm heart-glad for you and Frodo both."

Sam whirled to face him, openmouthed. He gulped, eyes darting to Merry and Frodo, who were engaged in a bit of childish dunking and did not appear to be listening. He cleared his throat. "Pippin...what do you mean?"

Pippin smiled fondly. "Samwise Gamgee, I've known you all my life. You're one of my dearest friends and conspirators. I don't know what precisely has happened but I have a fair idea, and as I said I'm glad for you."

Redder still, Sam nodded. "Will everyone guess as quick as you?"

"Oh, I doubt it," Pippin laughed. "Merry, perhaps, but I doubt anyone else. And I think we might just have more perspective than the others." He winked, much to Sam's bewilderment.

"Perspective?"

"Aye, you might say that," Pippin said cheekily, "Now come on, I really am starving!" Nimbly he hopped out of the pool and began to dry himself.

Sam stared after him for a long moment, pondering what he'd said. Shaking his head he rinsed and waded back to shore--luckily he'd had the presence of mind to bring their clothes along. Frodo seemed quite grateful for this as he exited the pool; the water was warm and after it the cool morning air was a bit of a shock. The four hobbits dressed quickly and walked as a group towards where the other members of the fellowship would soon be dining. Sam and Frodo fell in step behind Merry and Pippin, watching the two as they walked, arms round each other's waists.

"Oh, I see. Perspective," Sam chuckled to himself.

"What was that?"

"Nothing, Mr. Frodo. Just a bit o' conversation Pippin and I had earlier." He shook his head and took Frodo's hand in his own. "Come, if we let them get to breakfast before us there will be naught for us.

Frodo laughed and squeezed Sam's hand. "Can't have that, Pippin's not the only one who's hungry! But," he said, his voice turning husky, "I've a mind for what I'd like for desert."

Sam smiled shyly. "We'll see what we can do about that too, Mr. Frodo."


End file.
